The Vampire Gift 5: Whispers of Evil Read online

  Table of Contents

  Welcome!

  The Vampire Gift 5: Whispers of Evil

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  The End

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  Welcome...

  TO THE VAMPIRE GIFT SERIES

  Currently Available:

  The Vampire Gift 1: Wards of Night

  The Vampire Gift 2: Kingdom of Ash

  The Vampire Gift 3: Throne of Dust

  The Vampire Gift 4: Darkness Rising

  The Vampire Gift 5: Whispers of Evil

  Coming Soon:

  The Vampire Gift 6: Secrets of Hope

  The Vampire Gift 7: Prophecies of Light

  The Vampire Gift 8: Shadows of Mist

  by E.M. Knight

  www.TheVampireGift.com

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  tVG 05 Whispers of Evil - Version 1

  The Vampire Gift 5: Whispers of Evil

  By E. M. Knight

  Copyright © 2017

  Edwards Publishing, Ltd

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead or vampire, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

  Cover art by B. Wagner

  First Edition: January 2017

  Prologue

  600-odd Years Ago

  The First Witch Caravan

  Morgan

  “Do your chores, Morgan. Don’t dally too long, Morgan. Go fetch some carrots for the soup, Morgan.”

  I mimic my mother’s sing-song, nagging voice as I carry the heavy pail from the river back to our tent. With a heavy effort I set it down on the table. Then, sighing, I go check on the fire.

  The tinder is barely burning. The wood’s not dry enough. I know I’ll be blamed for it, even though there’s nothing more I could do.

  It’s not like I can control the weather and cast last night’s rain away.

  With an envious look, I glance at the tent. A faint blue light surrounds it. Mother is giving her lessons inside.

  I don’t understand why I’m not in there. I don’t understand why I’m relegated to doing these stupid, boring, menial chores!

  After all, I’m old enough to learn, I turned twelve two weeks ago. Most other witches begin their training at seven, eight, or nine.

  But mother has always shown a particular disdain toward me. She’s all smiles and sweet-talk when we’re outside and in the company of others. But at night, when I’m alone with my sister and her inside the tent...

  Well, I don’t think she’s ever given me a moment of her notice.

  I look around the campsite. There is nobody else in sight. They’re all off in the village over the hill, peddling their wares and selling potions and elixirs to the gullible townsfolk.

  Of course, none of them are really enchanted. Mother would never give any object of magic to a non-witch.

  She’s miserly enough with her own daughter as is.

  An idea comes to mind. It’s not a very good one, and I know I’ll be in trouble if I get caught... but with nobody around to see, I don’t think the odds of that are very high.

  I creep around the bank of the tent. When I’m close, I drop to my stomach and lift the back flap, just a tad, so I can see what mother is teaching my sister inside.

  They are seated across from each other on the matted floor. Mother has her back to me. My younger sister is facing me, although her eyes are closed.

  Both of them are very, very still. But I can see the different, beautiful weaves of magic swirling around them like long flags on the wind. The ribbons are all sorts of colors, from greens to yellows to blues to reds. Some are bright and shiny while others matte and textured. But all are equally stunning.

  And the light that shows around the outside of the tent is the afterglow, the wonderful halo created when magic is being used. It is visible to all.

  As I watch my sister make the weaves leap and dance, I am, as always, astounded by the beauty of what we do. Well—what they do.

  I have not once been given the chance.

  Wielding magic without proper training, without the initiation, is strictly forbidden. And even though I have The Spark—clearly, I do, I can see all the magical flows—Mother refuses to teach me.

  I don’t know why.

  Suddenly an ugly spike of jealousy flares, directed at them both, but especially toward my sister. Why should she be allowed to learn while I’m stuck doing the tasks servants were made for?

  That jealousy grows as I continue to spy on them. It grows and grows, until it becomes a tight, black knot of anger in my heart.

  I decide then it’s best to leave.

  But just as I start to wiggle out, my sister’s eyes pop open. They fix right onto me.

  I freeze.

  It seems that time slows to a standstill as she tries to decide what to do. I shake my head, silently begging her not to—

  “Mother! Morgan’s here!”

  My mother whips around, her eyes a blaze of fury. “Morgan!” she exclaims. “I told you before...”

  With a quick flick of her wrist she directs a whip of Air at me. Even though I see it coming, I can do nothing to stop it. I flinch before it hits, then cry out in pain as it strikes me across the face.

  Unbidden tears well in my eyes. That anger explodes into hatred for my younger sister as she giggles. How dare she!

  I pick myself up and turn and run straight into the woods. I run and run, crashing through the foliage and shrubbery and not caring where I end up.

  My foot catches an upturned rock. I yelp in surprise and fly to the ground. My face lands in the dirt, and pain springs to life in my ankle.

  I lie there for a moment, crying, shaking, confused and angry and bitter all at the same time. I remember a time my sister and I were best friends. But when mother decided to teach her, just a month before my birthday, she became a veritable stranger to me. Now, the two of them always, always, always team up against me—and it’s hardly fair!

  Eventually, I push myself up. I look around me, still trembling. The sky has started darkening overhead. The temperature has dropped.

  I begin to shiver.

  I look one way, then another. As the light fades, the paths out of the forest look identical.

  Fear creeps up my spine.


  Some sort of animal scurries up a tree. I gasp and jerk away from the sound, heart racing.

  Cold now, and wet, I crawl to a nearby stump and huddle against it. I know there’s no way I’ll find my way back in the dark. Even if the moon were out in full, there wouldn’t be enough light breaking through the canopy.

  “Stupid, stupid, stupid Morgan,” I mutter. This is my fate, racing away so close to sundown. And now I’ll have to spend an entire night in the woods!

  I wish again that I’d been taught magic. Then I’d have nothing to fear. Then all it would take is a single spell. One spell and poof, my clothes would be dry again. Poof, I’d hold a small orb of light between my palms.

  But nooo. All those powers and abilities are denied to me, for reasons I don’t understand—and haven’t been told—at all!

  I try to find a more comfortable position against the bark, bringing my knees up to my chin while hugging them tightly for warmth.

  ***

  I make my way back to camp the next morning, cold, hungry, miserable, wet, and dirty.

  It’s fairly easy to find the grounds. The sounds of the returned members of our company can be heard far into the woods.

  I also didn’t run quite as far as I thought.

  Still, all of them go deathly quiet when they see me emerge. I swallow the lump of fear that suddenly forms in my throat.

  They all know my mother is in charge of the caravan. They know she is not happy with me.

  I spot my sister with a group of boys by a campfire. I shoot her an evil glare. I’ll get you back for this, I promise.

  Then I enter our own familiar tent, where I’m bound to be scolded, yelled at, and humiliated for all to hear.

  Mother is bent over a clay pot, packing the dirt in just so. She does not interrupt what she’s doing, neither does she acknowledge my presence.

  I just stand there, one foot in front of the other, hands held together in front of me as a sort of shield for my body, and wait for the inevitable reprimand.

  But mother surprises me. When enough time has passed, and she’s deemed me properly uncomfortable, she straightens, turns, and looks my way.

  “So you want to learn magic, do you?” she asks nonchalantly.

  My heart nearly leaps out of my chest. This is the first time she’s spoken of that wish in years!

  But I know the devious twinkle in her eye when I see it. She’s trying to bait me—I mustn’t show my enthusiasm yet.

  “Only if you think I’m ready,” I say, trying to keep my voice as neutral as possible.

  She laughs. “Ha! You would make a great lady in the court one day, speaking like that.”

  Considering the supercilious way most of our caravan regards royalty, I don’t think that’s a compliment.

  Fighting down the urge to fire back, I shift my feet and say nothing.

  “So. Morgan. As a matter of fact, I do think that you’re ready. I think you’ve been ready for a very long time.”

  Again my heart starts to pound. Strong, powerful contractions pulse through my body.

  “Then why haven’t you taught me?” I ask, doing all that I can to keep the hurt from my voice. “Why have you been teaching… her?”

  I don’t want to say my sister’s name.

  “This is not about your sibling, but about you,” mother says haughtily. “One does not affect the other.”

  Last night one did, I think sourly.

  “So if I’m ready,” I try again. “Does that mean you’ll teach me? Is that why you’re not mad?”

  Mother’s eyebrows go up. “Not mad? Sweet child...” she comes closer and goes to one knee so that our faces are level. “Sweet, sweet Morgan.” She touches my cheek. “I am not simply mad… I’m furious.”

  Suddenly her grip shifts, and she grabs hold of my pigtail painfully.

  “You had me up all night worried sick,” she hisses. “You can’t imagine the things the others were saying about me after I let you get away. If I cannot rein my own daughter in, what right do I have to lead any of them?”

  She pulls me closer. I wince against the pain.

  “You ran away. You humiliated me. Do you know how that makes me look? No? It makes me look weak. And weakness is never, ever, a quality to be ascribed to a witch.”

  She lets go. The sudden break in contact makes me stagger back.

  But while I’m still reeling from the pain, she flips a switch and is all smiles before me.

  “No, Morgan, I will not teach you. I will not teach you today, tomorrow, or the day after. I will not teach you ever. Do you know why?”

  Tears of hurt and anger come again, as she continues to crush my dreams.

  “I will not teach you because, even if you might be ready, you do not possess the requisite qualities to be a witch. Magic is a powerful tool. And you cannot be trusted with it. Last night was a prime example. You are rash and impetuous. You act without thinking. You show very little empathy for others—” she clicks her tongue. “Do you even know what empathy means?”

  Dully, I shake my head. Each word she says is another dagger through my chest.

  “But all those things could be overlooked,” Mother continues, “if it wasn’t for your heart.”

  “What’s wrong with my heart?” I demand suddenly, not knowing how to deal with all the roiling, tumultuous emotions inside.

  “It is dark,” mother tells me. “It is dark, it is corrupted, it is cruel. It is black as night. I’ve watched you grow. Even as a child you made me worry. I tried to steer you the right way. But no amount of influence could fix what was already broken.”

  She thinks I’m… broken? I nearly collapse into a full breakdown as the truth finally comes out.

  “I realized a few years ago it’s not your fault,” she continues. “And neither is it mine. The truth of it is, you inherited all those vile qualities from your father. I see so much of him in you… and he could never be trusted with anything as important as magic, either.”

  “He could… have learned?” I ask. This is one of the rare times she’s spoken of him to me.

  “Of course not, don’t be stupid,” she snaps. “Only women can become witches. I am saying if… oh, never mind. You wouldn’t understand.”

  And finally the injustice of it all becomes too much to bear. All the anger and all the hurt bubbles to the surface.

  “I wouldn’t understand?” I scream. “I wouldn’t understand?”

  “Quiet down,” she says. “Don’t cause a scene.”

  “I understand everything. I understand it all just fine. I understand that you hate me—and that’s why you won’t teach me magic. Well, guess what? I HATE YOU, TOO!”

  And I spin around and storm out in a blind rush. Mother calls after me to stop, but I ignore her cries. There’s only one person now I need to see.

  I spot my sister giggling with one of the boys. Furious, betrayed, and with hot tears still in my eyes, I stalk up to her and grab her by the arm.

  “Morgan, what—”

  I slap her. Hard, and straight across the face.

  It feels good to get a measure of vengeance.

  She doesn’t stay startled for long. She jumps at me, and we both go rolling to the ground. We scream and scream and kick and pull. I get another good swipe at her face, this time using my nails to draw long gashes across her cheek. She cries out, twists her head, and bites my arm. Sharp pain rockets up the limb. I’m about to punch her right in the eye when a sudden force breaks us apart and lifts us into the air.

  Mother has come out. Weaves of Air mixed with Fire make up the bonds that hold us. I can see them, I know what they’re like, and dammit, I don’t need to be taught to try fighting back!

  So, in my all-consuming anger, I open my mind to The Spark. I feel it overcome me and lash out against mother’s spell.

  Her weaves part as easily as if a knife’s been sliced through them. I fall to the ground. Momentary shock shows on mother’s face, but it’s replaced by immediate outrage. “How D
ARE you,” she begins…

  She doesn’t get to finish. My anger and hatred has an outlet, now, and I don’t even think: I just act. I send a blast of Air her way, meaning to strike her as she did yesterday to me, but with perhaps a bit more strength…

  Something goes wrong. The weave of magic morphs and spirals out of my control. Power lashes through me in a terrible fury, and I can do nothing to stop it. My weave of Air becomes encased by Fire, with a solid core of Earth inside.

  The spell slams into her. She attempts to put up a shield in a desperate deflection, but the force of my blast is too great. It barrels right through her defense and strikes her square in the chest.

  She’s flung up like a ragdoll. Mother is catapulted nearly a hundred feet in the air. Her body hits the ground and rolls grotesquely, skipping over itself again and again.

  Terror seizes me as I realize what I’ve done. My grip on magic evaporates. I lose it completely.

  Mother’s body comes to a limp stop far away. She does not move.

  “Mo—mommy?” I whimper.

  A crowd immediately rushes to her. I stand idle, in shock, in horror, as they run past me.

  My sister is staring at me as if I’m the greatest monster she’s ever seen.

  A circle builds around mother. Time slows to a halt as I watch the procession. I’ve gone cold and numb. Everything feels so far away.

  A man’s voice calls out. “She’s dead!”

  My knees give way. I crumble down. I cannot comprehend the words, even though I know perfectly well what I’ve done.

  “You killed her,” my sister whispers, equally stunned. “You...”

  “No,” I say. “No, no. No.” I start to cry. “I didn’t mean to, I didn’t mean to do it—”

  “You killed her,” she repeats. The words are stronger this time. “You struck out with magic, and you… you killed her.”

  “No, no, no, no!” I bury my head in my hands and shake it desperately. Hot tears run down my cheeks. “No. I didn’t mean to. No. No, no, no, it was an accident, it...”

  “I saw what you did,” my sister accuses. She stabs a finger at me. “It was her!” she yells out, calling to the crowd. “Morgan did it, Morgan killed mother!”